


I, Alone (Rough Draft) (EAD)

by WaterSoter



Series: WaterSoter's 2020 Evil Author Day [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Child Death, Discussion Of Murder, Disturbing Themes, Episode: s01e06 Mr. Willis of Ohio, Evil Author Day, Evil Author Day 2020, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Murder, No Beta, Rough Draft, WIP, canon AU, dark themes, discussion of other trigger topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterSoter/pseuds/WaterSoter
Summary: “Sir, it appears from her statement you weren’t the target.”“I wasn’t?”“No sir.”“Who was?”“Sam Seaborn, sir.” Canon AU. Season 1 Episode 6, Mr. Willis of Ohio.
Series: WaterSoter's 2020 Evil Author Day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635490
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42





	I, Alone (Rough Draft) (EAD)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the many hints we got in the show of Sam being the heir for the president before Rob Lowe left the series. So I took it and I got this. This is a rogue draft, very, very rough so please bear with it.

*O*O*O*

Snow.

White, blinding. Sam remembered the first time he had seen something like this. His first winter in Princeton, waking up from the litter of dead leaves on the ground the night before to a blanket of white covering everything in sight. Beautiful and cold. He’d grabbed his thickest coat, which wasn’t anywhere thick enough or warm enough and gone down to see for himself. That winter he’d spent it in bed, suffering from the worst cold of his life. His parents reluctantly leaving him behind to attend their annual, attendance not optional Christmas vacation with his dad’s law partners.

Now Sam stared out of his office’s window, felt the cold creep through the glass, cut through the heat pumping throughout the building. It was better than staring at his computer screen, the cursor blinking at him as if mocking him. Not if, it was. Mocking him. Blink, blink, blink and the page a blank canvas that Sam couldn’t fill no matter how many times he’d sat down and tried.

Mostly he was trying very hard not to look past his office, into the bullpen where most of everyone was crowded around a television. Ginger front and center with Bonnie and Cathy not far away. More interns stopping at intervals to grasp the latest scraps of news they could get. They were mostly silent. The sound of the reporter loud and booming. Easily sneaking past walls and cubicles and into his office despite himself.

He was tempted to close the door but that would attract unwanted attention. He was tempted to sneak into Toby’s office. Toby’s couch was inviting and comfortable and calling to him like a siren leading sailors astray. Sam had only three hours of sleep the night before, and the night before not even that. It pulled at his body, weighted it down like Atlas with the world literally on his shoulders for all of eternity.

He glanced at the computer screen again, white, like the White House lawn. Like most of Washington DC that hadn’t been plowed or turned to slush. The trees were pretty. Their bare corpses sparkled with delicate flakes and melted ice.

Josh had talked about going out and making snowmen. Toby had vetoed the idea with due diligence and plenty of mocking. It was too bad because Sam could use the distraction and he kind of liked playing in the snow.

Outside his door the bullpen exploded in a chorus of muffled cries and angry whispering. Sam closed his eyes. Rubbed the growing tension at the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to know but it was impossible when the television was blaring everything in gruesome detail. The female commentator’s voice broke once or twice. It did nothing to stop the flow of information. Didn’t stop her from painting horrible, horrifying pictures that would be engraved onto his brain from now unto eternity.

Another cry and Sam wished he would had taken Josh on his offer. They could be outside right now, freezing but it wouldn’t matter. Sam could pretend that nothing had changed. That the world he knew wasn’t falling apart at the seams. They could all pretend. Hypothermia and pneumonia aside. It would be better than being inside while someone recounted violence done on the most innocent and vulnerable.

“Are you listening to this?” Josh said as a way of greeting. He looked pale, dishevel, leaning on the doorway like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Sam imagined he didn’t look any better. His tie was askew, probably pulled loose sometime ago. He was wearing the same shirthe’d worn for the past three days. It was a wrinkled mess but at least his suit jacket could cover that up. Sam didn’t think there was anything that could hide the look in Josh’s eyes. It probably matched his own.

“Yeah.” Sam looked down at the blank screen. Wished he could plug his ears and start a mantra somewhere along the lines of, LALALALALALALALA. Maybe hunker down in some dark corner and pretend the world didn’t exist. It was something he used to do when he was little. When things got to be too much. The world too big and his skin too small.

“Sam,” Josh said, tone gentle in a way that made Sam want to crawl under his desk and curl up into a ball. Instead he dug his nails into his palms until it hurt. He breathed in and out, in and out. Then Josh was there, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to his chair. “You okay?”

Sam looked at Josh, kneeling next to him, face a mask of concern. Much like the first time Josh had seen him like that. Back then Sam had gotten lost around campus. The thick clusters of sycamore hard to navigate during the day, made worse at night. Josh had found him hours later, when Sam hadn’t shown up to a planned dinner he’d had with Josh and several other guys he whose names he couldn’t remember now.

He _still_ didn’t remember everything too clearly. Only that the trees had seemed so imposing, their shadows and distorted figures as if reaching for him. Only that suddenly Josh had been there, with that same look on his face. That Josh had taken him to his dorm and gotten him something warm to drink. Blankets around his shoulders. He had talked until Sam no longer felt like he would jump out of his skin. Until the bone-deep chill left and he stopped shaking so bad he thought he’d shake right through the floor.

Sam wasn’t shaking now. Nor did he feel that horrible bone-deep chill. He could hear and see clearly. The television reporters coming in clearly and relentlessly. “We should make snow angels.” He said into that concerned face. His mind already outside, on that thick, fluffy snow.

Josh gripped his arm for a second, two, then stood up and took one of the chairs across from his desk. Dropping bonelessly like a marionette with its strings cut. “Yeah.” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair making it an even bigger mess.

Ginger made a chocking sound, Sam saw how she put a hand on her mouth. Bonnie rubbing her back and Cathy huddling in on herself. Around the bullpen faces ranged from horrified to furious. Some pale enough Sam worried that they might end up passing out on them.

“Eighty-four so far.” He said, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t pay attention. He’d keep himself as far away from it as possible.

“Yeah.” Josh rubbed hard at his face.

“They’re still finding bodies.” He nearly chocked on that last word. The images of those rotting, small beings, lined up on the dirt, covered with tarmacs and blankets because they’d run out of body bags the day before, vivid in his mind’s eye.

“Yeah.” Josh muttered. Throwing his head back until it popped, earning a sympathetic look from Sam.

“Third one.” Third mass grave found in less than forty eight hours. “Josh . . .” The words got stuck in his throat, tight with an emotion he couldn’t describe. Too many days of watching body after body being dug up. Of a simple, worn and unassuming cabin in the woods vomiting the worst horrors their country had seen in two decades.

“Yeah,” Donna and Carol came into the bullpen, said something to Ginger, Cathy and Bonnie and just like that, the crowd dispersed and the television was muted. Interns back to work and assistants disappearing into their own. Sam nearly raced out of his office, chased after them.

Instead he pulled his glasses off, rubbed at the bridge of his nose where a headache had pitched a tent and made itself at home. Lent on his desk to steady himself. He didn’t want a repeat of that episode a year ago, when exhaustion and stress had made him loose his footing. Hitting his head on the corner of his desk. knocked out before he hit the floor with a loud crash. Four stitches and a reputation for clumsiness that had only grown through similar incidents.

“Let’s go make a snowman.” Josh suddenly said, sitting in the space to Sam’s right. Reclining against the desk, bent down, head almost touching his knees. “I think I have a carrot somewhere.”

Sam snorted, because it was such a Josh thing to do. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a plaid scarf, two black buttons and a top hat somewhere in his office as well. The tv was still showing areal photos of the dig sites. That morning’s briefing had left them with the impression that the FBI expected to find a lot more graves and bodies. How many, they couldn’t say, but the estimate had been at least three more, five, if it was as bad as they thought it was.

The headlines were harder to see from this far away. He was grateful to Donna, who Sam was sure had been the one to mute the tv. More and more people were stopping at the screens to check the latest before getting back to work. Sam and Josh should do that. Or go outside and build snowmen. Not sit in silence as more bodies were dug up.

Sam, with his glasses in hand, three speeches that needed to be written and the words stuck somewhere in the black pit that had formed in his stomach. Josh, straining his back, elbows on his knees when he had meetings all day. Two on the Hill.

Would they cancel that now? Sam didn't have a frame of reference for any of this. “Are you still going to the Hill?” He asked even as Donna came back with Cathy, piles of folders in their arms.

“Me?” Josh straightened and Sam winced in sympathy as his back gave a loud crack. “I have no idea. I mean is there some kind of -” He flapped his hand around, like he was trying encompass and explain something at the same time.

“Procedural? I was wondering the same thing.” The screens suddenly shifted and a ZNN reported went on. “Agent Casper didn’t mention anything?”

“Mike? No, no, he didn’t. I think we’re supposed to just go on like any other . . .” Something was happening on the televisions because suddenly the bullpen started to fill out. Assistances and staff pilling in for whatever reason. Toby made to get a spot before he noticed them in Sam’s office and changed directions.

“Did you hear about this?” He demanded, dark eyes boring into them as if Sam and Josh suddenly developed psychic abilities and thus knew what in the world he was talking about.

“About that?” Sam said.

“Sorry but I left my crystal ball in my other suite.” Josh said, his eyes past Toby to the large crowd gathered beyond his door.

“You’re telling me you haven’t been listening to this!” Toby waved at the screens and he looked like he was moments away from tearing at what was left of his hair. Of course before any of that happened, CJ stuck her head into his office. Face set, mouth in a flat line. Neither tended to be good signs.

“You guys better get out here.” She said then pushed herself to the front of the crowd as Donna unmuted the tvs. Josh, Sam and Toby a second behind her. Leo there a moment later. The talking head on the screen was Vicky Marshall from ZNN. Sam had never met her in person, but he thought her very professional in her reporting since she became a lead anchor at her network. Today was no different as her face and tone stayed even as she described the events of the last three days.

But that wasn’t what had led the senior staff, along with most of everyone else in the West Wing, to be in the communication’s bullpen. As her information dried up without anything new to add, a photo appeared on the screen. The shocked gasps and mutterings was a like wave, reaching a crescendo before dying down as Marshall kept on speaking.

“- the disappearance having been one of the most infamous of the last decade. While not conclusive, sources close to the investigation have stated that this might be the first concrete evidence they’d had on the case in nearly three decades. An unnamed FBI source on the ground confirmed that the outfit matched what he had been wearing on the day he disappeared. According to this source, the clothes were found in one of the latest graves, wrapped in a plastic bag in a similar manner as those of the other victims.” Sam watched a close-up of two bodies that were pulled that first day before reporters had been banned from the site. Two packages of clothes in tightly sealed plastic bags. The bulge of a stuffed animal clearly visible.

“There has been no official word on the clothes or the significance of their location.” CJ said something to them, but whatever it was Sam couldn’t hear her, his eyes focused on the photo of that little boy. His name so familiar, the stories so well known, that Sam almost felt as if he’d known him.

“- little Joseph Liam Bartlet’s body was never found although speculation had led to the arrest -” Sam stopped listening when a shot of a collage of photos appeared. Obviously taken from some post-board. And in one of those, almost to the corner of the frame were faces that Sam knew very well. They were younger. Worn down by drugs and God knows what else but they were ones Sam was intimately familiar with. It made Sam’s blood freeze, his stomach a weighted stone. “- are believed to have been members of the Dying Sun cult, infamous for the 1986 mass suicide -”

“Hey, Sam?” Josh had at one point sidled up to him, shoulders almost brushing. Voice low over the dim. “Isn’t that a photo of your biological parents?” His face was pale, and Sam couldn’t imagine what he must’ve seen in _Sam’s_ face, because the the next moment he’d draped his arm over Sam’s shoulders, led Sam away. From the people, from the noise, through the throng scurrying to and fro the bullpen. Through bodies and hallways and finally a door and cool, cold air.

It helped slap some sense into Sam even if the cold made him realize that neither one were dressed for the weather. “Sam?” Josh asked after a minute or two. Steady, none of the shivering that was starting to dance up and down Sam’s spine.

Flurries danced in the air, falling in gentle waves onto the White House’s land. The view was breathtaking. White as far as the eye could see. Crystalline drops frozen on branches, on naked rose bushes. Twinkling in the light like tiny diamonds. A true winter wonderland with the mall a murky backdrop.

Sam shook his head, once, twice. Of everyone, Josh was the only one that knew. That Sam had been able to confide in after he’d found out he was adopted. It had been a hard days, back then. The uncertainty of that moment never quite leaving him even years later. The comprehension of the distance some of his relatives kept from him. The looks when they thought he wouldn’t notice.

“I don’t know.” He said finally or tried to since his teeth were shattering too much for much coherence. Josh rolled his eyes before he pushed Sam back inside. Into a heat that felt scorching on his too cold skin. They ended up in the Roosevelt room, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs that the first lady had personally chosen for this room.

“Sam,” Josh started, stopped and looked out the window, at the snow that had gone from a light sprinkling to a full out cascade. They would be lucky to get home with the traffic jam it was going to cause. “Did you know about the cult?”

Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The headache that had pitched a tent had invited friends to the party and was slowly turning into an out all migraine. “Josh,” Sam dug his palms into his eyes, his fingers into his scalp, helpless in the face of this possibility, “I hardly know anything about them.”

A nod, and Josh ran a hard hand over his hair. If he kept that up, he was going to end up looking like Rodney King or a demented hedgehog. “I think we need to talk to someone.”

The stone in his stomach dropped to his knees. “Someone like whom?” The look on Josh’s face was all the answer Sam needed. “Like a lawyer? _God_ , Josh.” And how was he going to explain any of this to CJ, to Toby or Leo, to the _president_.

“I know, I know.”

“John, we don’t even know where ZNN got those photos.” Sam said, his heart a tattoo in his chest. “We don’t know anything yet. Even if somehow they’ve been part of the cult it doesn’t mean -”

There was a knock at the door and Cathy popped her head in. She took them in at a glance, her eyes a little wider than normal, and _God,_ they probably were a mess. Josh with his hair and wrinkled suite and Sam with every thought in his head out for the world to see. Thankfully she didn't comment. “Leo's calling all senior staff to the oval office.”

Sam and Josh exchange a look. “Do you know why?” Josh asked even as he straightened and tried, in vain, to get himself in some semblance of order. Sam didn’t even bother. It would take more than running his hands over his jacket and finger combing his hair to look anywhere presentable. Considering the circumstances, they could be excused for their slovenly appearance.

Cathy shrugged, glanced over her shoulder at something. “No idea, just that you guys needed to be there yesterday.” Then she was gone in a flurry of black hair and efficiency.

After a moment, Sam retied his tie while Josh pulled his suit jacked over his messy shirt. “This isn’t going to be good.” Josh muttered, already moving towards the door. Sam held back for a second, tried to get his thoughts in order. If this was hitting them this way, he couldn’t imagine what it must be doing to the Bartlet’s. After all this time of hoping and wishing. Of thousands of unanswered prayers. Of decades of not knowing and thinking the worst.

Sam thought back to those terribly small bodies, rotting in the ground for God knows how long. To all those parents, waiting and hoping and now having to live with a reality that was much worse than anything they could have imagined.

“Sam?” Josh was looking back at him, brown eyes deep and worried. Sam shook himself, reknotting his tie when he saw the mess he had made out of it. “You going to be okay?”

Sam focused on the tie, on the familiar movements. His mind blank for once. “Yeah, sure.” He said as he proceeded Josh out of the room. Through the familiar hallways and people. A strange and welcoming calm settling on his shoulders. Loosening the stone his stomach had become. Something else to focus on. Something else to think about that wasn’t the possibility that his parents, his _actual_ parents, weren’t just drug addicts and criminals, but monsters as well.

He walked the welcoming halls of the West Wing, headed to the most important office in the world, and didn’t allow himself to do anything more than put one foot in front of another and another and another.


End file.
